muse, o, where have you gone?
the days drift endlessly and so
too, the cavalcade
of perjuries and injuries
some otherworldly, some homespun,
and never do you whisper
(your cinnamon breath caressing,
every neuron, firing, again, and again:
never EVER stop!)
just what i need to hear.
flow on, drift further,
almost as if nothing at all
had happened. almost as if
your lies had not been found out
and you, not but half of yourself,
wandered again, the desert of the
oh-so-real. the other half, decays not,
ascends to the place where all good fading
memories go, forever,
and in one brilliant moment:
it is here.
some kinds of animals, we are,
psychopaths and mercenaries,
saints and sinners,
cheats and saviors,
addicts and the kind of person
that always never says no,
to love, to hurt,
to fall off the edge of the earth with me,
just to see what's down there.
i hope you never EVER stop.
because i am not done with you,
oh no, we have unfinished business.
you, muse: oh, i don't even remember
what her face, and incidentally yours,
what majesty of flesh and spit,
tastes like the sweetest nectar,
but, look fast, she is
transforming.
i see them coming,
they're stalking me softly, like i'm
some kind of animal,
and not the kind i actually am,
but the kind that cares and loves
and hurts no one but the ones around him:
caution:
morning is upon us.
turn a new leaf,
each day is the last, but,
OH, MUSE, THE FIRST!
you'll never die;
you're already dead.
rescue us from ourselves,
ecstasy of eternity,
and never ever
EVER
stop.
